Roomates
by merlintriss
Summary: This is a premovie story about how the guys first ended up rooming together.
1. Chapter 1

Rent

Pre-movie.

Set before the musical, this is how the guys all started living together.

Roger walked into the loft apartment, barely knocking on the door. There had been a ad in the paper, the classifieds, about a opening for a roommate. He was a musician, had lived in New York all his life, and had just moved out of his parents house. Hey, eventually you have to spread your wings right?

He liked the neighborhood. Well, as much as you could like a run down neighborhood with a little class and tons of homeless people, but hey, it's not like he's renting the neighbors, just the apartment. Hopefully. Otherwise, he'd be back with his parents in no time.

A skinny blonde guy walked up to him. He had glasses, and had a real, well, nerdy poor guy appearance to him. Not that there was a problem with that.

"Oh, you must be Roger," the man looked at him, "well, I'm Mark, and I believe you've already met the philosopher Collins," Mark gestured expansively at the man sitting at the window, who waved amicably.

"Just so you know, before you get all settled in, I'm gay. If that's a problem, I'm real sorry," Collins spoke from his perch. He laughed at Roger's startled expression, "I'm not interested in you."

"Collins, do you have to start off every roommate's stay here with that. Couldn't you kind of wean them in on that fact?" Mark seemed perturbed.

"Wait, are you too a couple?" Roger asked. Collins hooted.

"No, man. I just knew the guy from NYU. Filmmaking student. Has some crazy ass plan to be a director some day," Collins looked at him, "What about you? What are you going to be once you move onto greener pastures?"

"Me, I'm a rocker."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: no, I don't own the musical or the movie, or any of it. I wish I did, but hey, I'm poor.

MiSs HoLlYwOoD: thank you for your criticism. Sorry about the confusion.

PucktoFaerie: Yeah, Benny was a roommate and I think Maureen was too. I just haven't got them moved in yet.

Hotshot: thank you.

LuthienGranger2004: thank you as well.

Iamari: you rock. Just a side note.

DaggerQuill: really? Oh shoot. Well, for the purposes of this story and the fact that I thought it would be a good place to meet Collins, he goes to NYU. I guess I made a slight Rent AU.

Just a side note to everyone else. Please review! I'm not going to threaten the future of this story because frankly I'm having too much fun, but please?

Roger had moved in yesterday, with his minimal belongings and his guitar. He found out that Collins was trying to get a teaching job sometime soon, but right now the metaphysics of life wasn't exactly handing out careers in education. Mark was living off his parents money, but he said that they would be cutting him off soon if he didn't get a 'real' job.

He decided to go for a walk. Roger went through the neighborhood, guitar strapped to his back and a wanting for a good job. Or just a regular job, he didn't really care either way. He saw a coffee shop up ahead and decided to maybe have a cup of coffee.

The shop was empty at this time of day (noon) and the only person there was a skinny red head behind the counter drinking a cup of coffee from a plain mug and reading a book of poems.

"Um, hey," he called over the counter after sitting down and waiting for a few minutes. The red head rolled her eyes, flipped the book closed and walked over, cupping the coffee mug in her hand.

"Yeah, what do you want?" she asked, annoyed. He ran his hand over his short blonde hair.

"Well, um, maybe a cup of coffee?"

"Would you like cream with that _sir?_" The derision was heavy in her voice and when he nodded, she stalked off, setting the coffee down with a thud. He had half a mind to just walk off and find another place for a cup of coffee, but he was thirsty, so he stayed.

"Do you know of any job offerings around here?" he asked when she brought the coffee to him, slamming the green mug down on the counter, a little of the brown liquid sloshing out.

"Depends, you have a college degree _sugar?_" she said the word 'sugar' like she was cursing, and he was taken aback.

"Does high school count?" he tried to joke, but the tough red head would have none of it.

"Real cute punk. The only place you might get into is Murray's down the street, and that's if you're any good with that thing you've got slung over the back of your seat," she went back to her book and the coffee. It was Roger's turn to roll his eyes. He dropped three dollar's on the counter and walked out, the door swinging shut behind him.

Up ahead was the awning of Murray's, red and white stripes. A old man sat outside smoking a cigarette, and he waved congenially. Roger walked up to him.

"I heard there was a job offering here. That true?" Roger asked. The man smiled and continued smoking. Roger took it for a yes and walked inside.

Murray's was small and dark, with a long bar and a stage at the end of the narrow room. A few patrons sat at the dimly lit tables, and a insanely thin man stood behind the bar, serving drinks to a buxom blonde.

Roger took a seat at the end of the bar, and the skinny man came down to him. He had a thatch of brown hair and was dressed in all black.

"So what do you want?" this man was a little more cordial than the last person he met behind the counter.

"How about a job?" the man raised his eyebrow.

"Little forward. We could start with a drink," Roger nodded and the man brought out a beer.

"I'm going to run out of money soon and according to the chick at the coffee shop I can get a job here," the stick man smiled.

"Depends," he laughed a little, "can you play anything?"

"I take it you want rock?" Roger grinned.

"Well, it may not look like it now, but on Friday nights we get pretty loud. Most of the time we have a full house. And it's not a job, more a gig, and if you're good, you can get a recurring gig," the man smiled, "so," he asked, "can you play?"

"Can you serve drinks?" Roger chuckled a little at the man's nod, "what do you want me to play?"

"Hey, it's your audition boy, do whatever you want. And, do it onstage. If you're going to play this gig, you might as well feel out the audience."

Roger stepped away from the bar and walked over to the stage area. Minor attention turned to him, and he smiled a little, and unpacked his acoustic guitar. He sat down on the stool at the stage, and started to play a little something he wrote when he first got into town.

The audience perked with interest a little, and most of them lulled their conversations away at this unexpected entertainment. Roger might not be a star, but just like he knew, he was a good player, and a good vocalist. The skinny brunette in the corner swayed a little with the tune, and he was merely lost in the melody.

At the finale of his performance, he got a good sized clap and the man at the bar motioned for him to come and talk.

"My name is Jake," he shook Roger's hand, "and I think you're going to be with us for a while boy, until you become a star."


	3. Chapter 3

Gah, no reviews. I am dying without reviews. Can't you tell? I haven't written in a while.

Roger found his way home easily enough. He hadn't been there for a while, but already this place was growing on him. Up ahead a hooded figure was wrapped against the cold. Only it wasn't really cold. It was moving quickly, trying to get out of the open. Or whatever.

That night's performance had been good, with plenty of people there happy enough to listen to his music. The band he was playing with was pretty good, at it for a while. True professionals.

The person up ahead turned in the same direction he was going. Interesting, but not entirely odd. Probably lives nearby.

There was a girl in the front row. She was beautiful, she was happy, and he had sung every song for her. Though she didn't know it. Slipped out the back when he was looking for her. Maybe she'd be there the next time he played.

The figure turned and went into his building. Well, not really his, but still, the building he lived in. He thought he pretty much knew everyone who lived in this broken down building. Suddenly, it turned around sharply.

"What do you want? Are you trying to mug me? Because I swear, I've got a brick in my purse, and I'm not afraid to use it," that voice sounded familiar, "Oh god, it's just you." She pulled back her hood to reveal long tresses of bright red hair. It was the girl from the coffee shop, "What are you doing here? Still looking for a job?"

"No, I'm trying to get to my apartment, if you don't mind," he tried to pass her.

"You actually live here?" her voice was filled with disbelief.

"Yeah, with Collins and Mark," pause, "Where exactly did you see me living, if you don't mind me asking?"

"With your parents in some brownstone with tons of money, just playing your guitar and bleaching your hair to make your parents mad. I know the type," she finally moved so he could pass.

"Where do you live?" the little brat had peaked his interest.

"Second floor. And don't try to sneak into my apartment at night," she smiled, "I have a baseball bat beside my bed and a knife underneath my pillow." she seemed to have a new found respect for him. One he couldn't quite grasp.

"Like I'll try to get you," he ran upstairs before she could comment, but his thoughts were still with that red head, and that girl from the front row.

AN: Hope you liked it enough to comment.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to all my reviewers

Renthead: I'll try to update more

Cordyangel: I think I'll take your advice. On some of my other fanfics, because I'm getting decent reviews on this one.

FreshProduceStandGirl84: Okay.

Elizabeth Theresa: It's okay. I'll continue writing. Just keep reviewing.

EverAfter89: I'll try to go back to what you liked in the beginning. And it's not April. Aprils the girl in the front row, like the song 'Glory' says.

Cameragirl: I'll update more. Just keep reviewing.

Keep reviewing and I'll keep writing. Its like fuel and a car. I need the gas to keep on the road.

Roger slid the door open to his apartment. Mark and Collins were sitting in the living area, Collins with his feet on the table, Mark holding a mug in his hands. There was another guy there sitting on one of the chairs. Next to his chair there was a suitcase.

"Oh, Benny, I'd like you to meet Roger, he's one of the roommates here. Has been for about a week now. Roger, this is Benny, he's going to be moving in too," Roger raised an eyebrow, but gave Benny's outreached hand a hearty shake.

"Where's he going to sleep?" The apartment was a little cramped for three, except for the…

"We figure I can clean out my darkroom and let Benny have that space," Mark gave a half-hearted smile, "That's if you don't mind black walls."

"Not a problem. This place had the cheapest rent around," Benny shrugged, "So what do I do until that gets cleaned out?"

"Well, I'll clean it out tomorrow, since I still don't have a job, and until then, the couch folds out, so you can sleep there," Mark gestured expansively, "I guess I can give you the grand tour." Benny got up and followed Mark over to the kitchen.

Roger plopped down on the couch next to Collins, who had reached for some book about metaphysical something or other, and was leaning back to start reading.

"So, how was that gig of yours?" he asked, opening the book to a well worn passage to start reading.

"Not bad. A good solid crowd, a few encores, and a few really hot girls," he jokingly sighed. Now it was Collin's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me you've got groupies?" Roger gave a fake nod, "Boy, you obviously haven't brought any of them home, or else they would have run screaming from your room. I've been in that hell-hole. Oskar the Grouch would be proud."

"And that, my friend, is what bathrooms are for," Roger gave a mini guffaw before getting up and going to his incredibly filthy room. He'd been here for a week, and already clothing seemed to be climbing up the walls in an attempt to get away from his wretched floor.

He plopped down on his bed and promptly tried to go to sleep. He had actually made it until about 2 in the morning when there was a ruckus by the door.

"Morraine, you can't just come in, I've got roommates," he could hear Mark's rushed whisper. Roger tried to see to the door, maybe now he could see the one girl who would actually date Mark.

"Oh, c'mon Pookey. I've got to have a place to stay," he could almost imagine the puppy dog eyes, "besides, my landlord kicked me out for not paying the rent, so you're the only person I can hole up with besides that old junkie boyfriend of mine down in jersey."

"Morraine, my roommates are _guys_," Mark was fighting an uphill battle against a much stronger force.

"Collin's doesn't count. He swings the other way," yep, Mark was loosing, "and it's not like I haven't been around a bunch of guys before."

"C'mon in Morraine," a sigh, "and please don't say that. I don't want to hear about your prior exploits."

"oh get a grip Mark, I'm just staying with you for a little bit. It's not like I'm moving in." Morraine's voice was like the kiss of death.

A week later, Morraine's stuff was in the apartment in Mark's room, and her roommates weren't exactly getting much in the way of sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Hello all ye reviewers who didn't review last time. I'm sorry about the misunderstanding with the name and all, I'm human, and not exactly talented at spelling. Have some forgiveness. To my two reviewers…

LyingUnder-BlueMoons—Thank you. And I apologize about misspelling Maureen's name. I seem to have read too much of Robert Jordan…

Queen of Doom—Thank you for your review and complement. And again, sorry about misspelling Maureen's name.

Life with Maureen was, how should we put his, interesting. Not only were she and pookie having a grand ole time staying up late, there was one bathroom in the loft. Sure, that wasn't good most of the time, but with a crazy woman, not the best of things for certain. On top of the bathroom and the late hours, there was the ever-present problem of oh, yeah, Maureen was crazy. A blast to be around at parties, a sure fire hit anywhere you went, especially if she was completely toasted, but crazy nonetheless.

Occasionally she would come back from one of those knock out parties completely wasted and would simply pass out on the floor. Mark would usually drag her to the room where they would make drunken love and officially gross out the rest of the population, but meanwhile, her underwear would mysteriously wind up on the counter. Roger wasn't quiet sure why, but for some reason, the underwear of a girl he wasn't sleeping with was unappealing.

In the world apart from Maureen, life was good. The gig was solid, people still came to see shows and every now and then you'd actually get a decently hot chick to sit in the front row. That girl from the show a month ago still came, but he could never find her after the show. This Cinderella was not leaving a glass slipper, and this ball was definitely not one for the faint-hearted.

Murray's, it turned out was a drug den, in a way. They didn't exactly advertise it next to the 'happy hour' sign, but if you wanted to get high, Murray's was the place to do it. They served mostly coke, and a whole lot of heroin. One of the bands that came brought ecstasy with them, and he could see them passing it around back stage to all of their little groupies. Once or twice he could've sworn he saw Maureen back there, but she was always back at the apartment making drunken love to her pookie. That was really disturbing.

Last night though, was different. The place was a mausoleum, and Roger soon found out why. A vice cop was in the audience, trying to sniff out drug users and get their dealers. The party was toned down as to not alert more undo suspicion. After all, they were a perfectly legitimate establishment, even if their clientele chose to dabble in something a little stronger than what was behind the bar. He could still here Jake's voice announcing them.

"Hello, Hello, people, and welcome to Murray's. To any cops in the audience, we would like to kindly point out to you that we are a fine drinking establishment. Now, to all you drug dealers, you better skedaddle before the cops here realize what a fool idea it was to come here in the first place," half-hearted laughter from this one as a few of the known drug dealers shuffled out quietly. The men in their cheap 'club-wear' remained, eyes on the stage like they were members of the audience, "okay, now please remain seated and keep your hands and arms inside the vehicle at all times, and say hello to Roger, and the band Queen Mary's Vengeance," as Roger got on stage he could see the gleam in Jake's eyes of glee. The man was playing a game.

Good so far? You think, how about reviewing? That would be nice.


	6. Chapter 7

Now for the Real Chapter

Reviews 

Kinara-Thank you. I suppose that is a little outlandish for five people to live in one apartment, but it is cramped.

SammyBlack80—Your wish is my command. Or not, but here's another chapter.

WhatYouOwn—I believe I made myself abundantly clear in the last chapter. You are under no obligation to continue reading.

Cordyangel—Thank you for continuing to read. And that name came out of the top of my head. And also thank you for your comments on my last impromptu chapter. Flames aren't nice, but I'd rather not block anonymous reviews, because I review anonymously myself, once in a blue moon.

RentHead—Thank you. I'm sorry that I screwed up the name none the less.

Melissa—I agree with you that I have readers who enjoy this story. However, I felt that that review in particular was uncalled for and rude. Giving constructive criticism is perfectly acceptable, in fact some of my reviewers have given my constructive criticism, but being rude in a completely unwarranted manner is a sign on ill upbringing, and forgive me, but yes I have heard of an editor, I have one for my non fanfiction stories.

All-Knowing-Oracle—Thanks for the compliment.

DarkDizzyMerryGoRound—I won't stop writing. That was just my little tirade for a short spell. Thanks for reading.

Sorry for not writing for so long. Writers block. And apologies about the last chapter.

Every day the apartment seemed to be smaller, if not because of the epic romance between the filmmaker and the crazy woman, but because there were so many people living there. Collins would go out late every night to talk about Thoreau and maybe Saul Williams, and wouldn't come back till the wee hours of the morning, smelling like alcohol and tea. Roger himself would often times return late, because of the bands gigs.

Queen Mary's Vengeanance's popularity was growing, and because of this, they were going all across New York and Jersey performing in bars and a few coffee shops. There was talk about putting out a record and touring in like England, but Roger wasn't sure. He still had roots in the area, and a touring band was a big commitment. The others said they wanted a decision tomorrow.

And for some reason, he still wasn't sure.

When he got back to the building, the red head was sitting on the stoop, sipping a cup of tea from a large mug. Her hair was pulled back, revealing a long neck and dangling earrings, and when she saw him, her gaze turned slightly condescending.

"I hear you boys are going to start touring?" she smirked, "going to join the big dogs maybe?"

"We're not sure if we're going to tour," he tried to pass off the conversation, but she wasn't letting him off that easily.

"Ah, so you're the one that's holding up the process. If you don't move boy, they're going to drop you like a rock," a smirk again. The thing was perpetually on her face, "touring is a once in a lifetime opportunity. There are plenty of boys with your voice that would gladly join a band for the chance of a lifetime. And you're passing it up for what?"

"I didn't say I was passing it up," he frowned, "I said that we were still not sure about touring. Leaving the country to perform for audiences is a big commitment. Leaving the state to perform is a big commitment. Just because some big record exec says we're going to make it doesn't mean we will."

"You're just getting in the way, aren't you," finally, she got on his nerves and he went upstairs. Maureen and pookie were sitting on the couch doing whatever it is they do, and Benny was reading a book at the table. Something biography. Maybe of Malcolm X. He wasn't exactly sure, because when he tried to look, Benny moved the book out of his view.

"Watch it, will you, I'm trying to read," he said, using his fist to support his chin.

"yeah, his girlfriends some rich girl from Chelsea and she wanted him to read things more cultured. He's already read a book about Islam and a book about Warhol. In one night. This girl must be something," Collins laughed from the kitchen were he was eating.

"What, does she have a nice chest and say pretty things while her parents are skiing around the Himalayans?" Roger teased. Benny's face got red and he threw a book at him.

"Roger, why do you have to be such an ignorant slob? So what, I've finally got a cultured girl. And she is pretty. That doesn't mean that's all I'm interested in. She's got a good personality. And a good heart. She volunteers regularly for the soup kitchen and for the animal shelter. She's a better person than you are," Benny's face was red with indignation.

There was a knock at the front door. Maureen disentangled herself from Mark long enough to answer the door. With a look of pity and maybe one of disgust at the disheveled Maureen, there stood a woman, maybe twenty-five, in a rich skirt and cream colored blouse looking to have parents with money in the Caymans.

"Bernard, are you ready? We don't want to be late for the opera. It's Puccini tonight. La Boheme. I hear it's a wonderful show," her voice went singsong for the last bit as she tactfully ignored Maureen.

"Yes, Marcy, I'm coming," Benny glared as Collins mouthed 'Bernard,' and got up, carrying the biography with him.

"Oh you're reading the one about Malcolm X? Personally, I'm a much bigger fan of McCollough's one on John Adams. Have you read it? It's a wonderful rendition of a president in action," her voice was polite.

As the door slid shut, there was an uproarious laughter as Collins finally let it go, and Maureen resumed her spot on Mark.

If you liked it, please review.


	7. Chapter 8 technically 7

Chapter Three (insert 'baby' at will)

TiggPwns-Thank you. I've just taken a little while to get back in the swing of things.

inara- I was taking points from the Maureens song, where she said he had become a lap dog.

LaBOBuren-I did overreact, mostly because it was my first flame. Thanks for the advice. The red heads an OC, and the girl in the crowd, she's…. hmm. Who knows?

iamari-Thank you. You'll just have to see. Sorry about the lack of privacy though.

tutriceange-The movie does say that Benny was one of the roommates. I think. Oh well. I'm glad you liked it.

By the way-I was just in New York and nearly got a chance to see Rent performed on Broadway. I'm still kicking myself in the head for missing it, and ended up, rather sadly, seeing Mamma Mia instead.

He had said no. There was no way, with all he felt for this place, that he could just pack up and go overseas. That was a pretty big deal, and besides, he was starting to just not feel part of the group. Those guys, they had been performing together for years as part of Queen Mary's Vengeance, cycling through the regular group of singers. I guess he had just been one of the many singers to be a part of such a group. And they certainly hadn't been too heartbroken about him leaving, quickly snapping up a regular bar singer to do his part and heading off to England.

So now, instead of being out at night, singing at disreputable bars, he was sitting back at home, trying to ignore the sounds coming from Mark's bedroom. God, would it never end? On top of that, Collins had popped in for about five minutes to say he was heading off to some slam poetry reading on the streets of Brooklyn, and that he wouldn't be back for a while. If he'd have stayed, Roger would have had someone to talk to instead of listening to _those_ incessant noises.

And Benny was no help. The man was permanently involved with his girlfriend, and right now they were off to some high class dinner, where Benny's mouth would permanently be in a 'pucker up' position for kissing so much…. Never mind. It didn't matter that much.

The noise was reaching a fever pitch, so he just left. It was bad enough having to sit alone on a Saturday night without those too. At least they were in another room. When they were just making out on the couch, it was enough just to endure that, let alone imagine sitting at that spot again.

Roger walked the streets, wrapping his seemingly paper thin denim jacket around himself. He pushed his fingers through his short hair. Maybe he should grow it out? It would help with the cold. Besides, this bleach blonde look was making him look like a lamppost. It might help him get in with a different kind of rock band. Who knows?

Somehow, he found himself a the coffee shop, the one where the red head worked. Curiosity drew him in, though he definitely could've spent his money on something better than a cup of overly priced coffee.

And there she was, the condescending redhead, with an attitude like no other. Did he find her appealing? That would be impossible. Why not just find some rock groupie to cuddle with, before his lead singer sex appeal ran out? At least they were attainable. Because, you're looking for a good lay, he told himself sarcastically.

"If it isn't the amazing lead singer who ditched his touring band to stay in Good Ole' New York. Hail to the man who is now the stupidest on the planet," the two patrons of the coffee shop at this late hour raised their coffee mugs in a half-hearted gesture of compliance.

"Thank you for the grand entrance," Roger shrugged, buying a cup of coffee before she thought up a reason to throw him out.

"Doesn't Murray's have a place for bleach-heads like yourself? Like a crack hole, or an opium den?" she sighed, remembering the reputation of the 'den of sin' that was Murray's.

"Naw, girl, I'm clean. I've always been clean. Got to keep those brownstone parents happy," Roger shrugged. She looked distracted, ill at ease, "everything okay?"

"Yeah," pause, "everything's cool," another pause, "I'm just waiting for someone that's all," she looked annoyed, "And what's it matter to you, bleach-head?"

"Just asking a friendly neighborhood question," he pulled his hands back in a manner tha was to look placating.

"You live in New York, there are no friendly neighborhoods," her sly mark was at the very least, one which was a response in the vein of their old banter.

And that's when an angel stumbled in….

What do you think? Review please. NO FLAMERS! Or I might not write. Again.


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